


let down the bars, o death

by Tinwoman



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: M/M, Molly Lives AU, Resurrection Rituals, Sacrificial Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-13
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-08-01 13:36:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16285577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tinwoman/pseuds/Tinwoman
Summary: There’s nothing as intimate as a resurrection ritual; Caduceus holds all of Molly (and there’s other names in there too, whispers of some other person, but Caduceus ignores them for now) in his hands, feels the bright pulse of his soul, and whispers to it.Do you want to come back?The soul brightens, sparks, flutters.I…You don’t have to.Caduceus is gentle, soft. There’s so much out here, and the astral plane is very, very beautiful. It is no small thing, to voluntarily return to a physical body, to the material world, after this.Yasha...and...my friends...Sudden warmth, a needle-sharp longing, and Caduceus feels a tug of love, a pull so strong he’s momentarily rocked backwards.





	1. Chapter 1

Caduceus knows, even before the strange group of travelers can pluck up the courage to ask, what they’ll want him to do. Their friend, cut down during a rescue mission, full of life and light, a trusted and beloved member of their party; Caduceus has heard it all before. He’s sympathetic — it’s a difficult thing, death, and even after decades of service in laying people to rest Caduceus has never lost sight of that essential, mortal ache — but he readies himself to tell them it’s almost impossible, now, to turn the wheel backwards. Their friend isn’t _gone_ , he’s just dead, and everything that made him who he was will someday return to the world. Better to grieve and move on, to celebrate his life and respect the journey he’s now undertaken.

It’s not exactly true — wheels go both ways, after all — but it’s easier this way.

All of them are standing at Molly’s grave, a beautiful multicolored coat fluttering in the cold night air. The Iron Shepherds were destroyed, missing friends were heroically rescued, but Molly’s friends are still weak, still devastated by loss, drawn together in a painful circle. Caduceus had intended to step to the side and give them some privacy, to leave them to their remembrances and their own personal funeral rites. But the pale, black-haired woman (Yasha, he reminds himself) had tugged him firmly back into their shared presence, her hand wrapped wordlessly around his arm, and now they’re all looking at him with such desperation, such naked pain, that something in his chest tightens sharply at the sight.

“I — I know what you’re going to say, and I — I can’t,” Caduceus says, cutting them off before they can say the words, a few crystalline snowflakes catching on his lashes as he blinks. “Or, not can’t, exactly, but it’s...hmmm. It’s complicated, and most of the time...most of the time the soul recognizes it’s where its supposed to be.”

How to explain, then, that most resurrection rituals fail because the dead are so much wiser than the living? How to explain that the dead love the living, but they know they no longer belong in that body, in that world? How to explain that the dead understand for the first time how boundless eternity is, that they need only wait a few moments for the living to join them in a shimmering sea of endless light? That the separation is only temporary, and everything really will be alright in the end?

He’s tried describing this before to those left behind, but it usually makes things worse. For them, it feels like a rejection, like a meaningless platitude, like one more jab at a whole-body bruise, and hurting the already hurt is the last thing he wants to do. These days, he deflects with a polite, well-being obfuscation, and deliberately doesn’t mention the possibility of divine energy being channeled and refracted and very, very occasionally, used to guide a willing soul back to their body.

 _But still. They’ve been through so much already,_ he thinks sadly, watching as Keg’s jaw tightens, as Beau grips her staff so tight her knuckles go blotchy-pale. Caleb exchanges a look with Nott, some understanding passing between them, and Nott pipes up.

“Can’t you...can’t you try?” Nott asks, looking up at Caduceus, her eyes glowing solem and bright as the moon overhead. “If it doesn’t work...at least we did everything we could, right?”

And just as he’s starting to say no, just as the words form in his mouth, a sudden gust of wind blows past them. It’s sharp, and cold, and the whistle in his ear sounds like a voice from far away; wild and high and so alive it sends a shiver down to the tips of his fingers. It almost sounds like...huh. It almost sounds like.

Her.

Melora. The Wildmother. Swirling in the snow and piercing through the tangle of his own thoughts, and the breath comes cleaner in his lungs. Not words, exactly, nothing he could write down or articulate, just a feeling. A gentle push, the spark of possibility, all at the moment when Molly’s friends quietly ask for a chance at his resurrection.

_Maybe...maybe..._

Caduceus closes his eyes, letting her will flow through him like water. It’s useless to chase it – he’s got to be still, to feel his heart beat slow and true in chest, and wait for the answer to rise up in his own soul. Melora doesn’t command; she guides. And while a few minutes ago, Caduceus would’ve sworn he’d never attempt another resurrection ritual, now the thought feels…well. It feels like maybe it’s the right thing to do.

A moment. Then another. Then another.

“All right,” he says finally, and seven heads swivel to stare up at him. “I’ll try. But I can’t promise…there’s no guarantee, you understand that?”

A babble of relieved voices, Jester pushing Fjord and Keg aside to wrap him in a rib-cracking hug, Caleb reaching for his book and starting to shakily list off what he has on hand for the ritual, Yasha’s barely-head whisper of thanks, and again that warm shadow-presence surrounds him with a close, steadying glow.

_Yes. Okay. Let’s try, shall we?_

“It won’t be easy,” Caduceus continues, and Fjord shushes the group while tugging Jester back slightly. “And I’ll need — that is, I can cast the spell, but the chances are better if you — if some of you can help.”

“We’ll do anything,” Fjord says, with that slow, slight drawl that Caduceus is coming to associate with crisis management and a cool head. “Just say the word.”

Taking a deep breath, Caduceus closes his eyes briefly and sends a prayer upward. “Well, first thing’s first is the body, of course. We can do it here, but I’ll need to be able to touch him.”

The seven of them exchange a wary look. But before anyone can protest, Yasha stpes forward. Wordlessly, she walks over to the cart and reaches into their jumble of stuff until she pulls out a shovel.

“How deep?” Yasha asks, ignoring Caleb’s blanch, Jester’s uneasy glance at the snow-covered ground. Instead she looks toward Beau, her remarkable eyes glittering with something Caduceus can’t name.

“Not very,” Beau says, an apology fluttering somewhere in her voice. “Maybe two feet, tops? We didn’t — we didn’t have a lot of time."

Yasha nods, curt and unconcerned, and begins to dig. Caduceus had been expecting the rest of them to help, or at least pitch in a little, but they all stand to the side and let her work. He can see when she gets close, sees her pace slow as she moves the shovel carefully into the disturbed earth, until —

“Here,” Yasha says, tossing aside the shovel and kneeling down. “He’s...he’s here.”

And now Jester breaks away from the rest of the group, kneels down in the dirt with Yasha and begins scraping, digs little rivulets into the ground with her hands to free Molly’s arms and shoulders. After a moment, Fjord joins them, a little farther away, working Molly’s legs out of the confines of the earth. Together, the three of them pull a tiefling body from the grip of the grave, lifting him and letting him rest on the multicolored coat that Caleb had laid flat while they worked.

Molly looks...well. His friends had told Caduceus all about him, over the past few days. Had talked at length about Molly’s flamboyance, his grace, the chaotic glint in his eyes, his boundless appetite for pleasure and comfort matched only by his unending generosity and kindness. The body, of course, cannot convey any of this. The body is just a vessel, and everything that made Molly who he was is with his spirit in the Astral Plane.

But he was very beautiful, this Molly. Even after a few days, even after the natural processes had started to work their will upon his body, his face is almost startlingly lovely. The cold helps, but Caduceus suspects something else, too. Some preservation magic, something in his past. Something that kept him looking alive and undeniably beautiful, even after death.

 _Not_ , Caduceus thinks hastily, _that it matters in any way what he looks like. Of course not._

“Now what?” Nott pipes up, and Caduceus shakes his head, clearing his thoughts.

“Now,” Caduceus says, his voice a little louder than he’d like. “Now we perform the ritual. I need three of you to...to make an offering. To Molly’s spirit. Give something, or say something. Help him hear you, help him understand.”

“That’s it?” Beau says, eyebrows raised slightly.

“For you, yes,” Caduceus says, smiling at her just a little. “You’ll make offerings, and then I cast the spell. Find his spirit, and if he’s able, guide him back.”

They’re quiet, for a minute. Exchanging looks heavy with meaning, Jester nibbling on her lower lip and Caleb keeping his eyes firmly on his spellbook and Keg scratching at the back of her neck hard and vicious enough to leave marks. Caduceus doesn’t push, doesn’t prod or pressure; they have to come to this on their own, even with Melora’s blessing still whispering across his skin.

“I — okay,” Fjord says heavily. “I — unless someone else wants to, I might…”

Nods all around, an encouraging squeeze on his shoulder from Beau, and Fjord pulls his pack over one shoulder. Unbuckling a small side pouch with deft, unthinking grace, he pulls out a stack of carefully folded pieces of paper. They seem to be scraps, mostly — all different sizes, and seemingly random phrases scrawled in an elegant hand.

Fjord just holds them for a moment, breathing quick and fast, before swallowing.

“They’re — he used to just doodle on stuff. Write notes to himself, or to one of us, or strangers, even,” Fjord says, his amber eyes going soft and distant. “Sweet stuff, usually. Sometimes a dirty joke or two. But I was – I mean, my handwriting’s crap, and his is nice, so he’d let me… he’d let me hang on to these, so I could practice my script whenever we got a little down time.”

A thread of something there – shame, or maybe despair, and Caduceus feels a rush of admiration for the soul of Molly, for someone who knew how to delicately, carefully give the gift of his own expertise to another. It’s a tricky balance, to offer without making the recipient feel small, and it seems to Caduceus that Molly had it perfected down to an art.

Fjord kneels down, heedless of the snow soaking into the fabric of his pants, and presses the papers to Molly’s chest. His hands are firm, his shoulders steady, but when he speaks his words are ragged with grief.

“Molly…I shouldn’t — I shouldn’t’ve let you…” he pauses, takes a deep breath, and his voice steadies. “I’m sorry. I miss you. Please come back.”

Silence, stillness, and Caduceus _feels_ it. Melora, the presence of the divine, and the shiver that runs through him has nothing to do with the cold. Fjord steps back, and just as Caduceus opens his mouth to ask who would like to make the second offering, Keg steps forward.

She doesn’t speak, doesn’t look at any of them, as she pulls a wicked-looking knife from the scabbard at her belt. Falling to her knees on the opposite side that Fjord had been, she slashes hard against her forearm, deep crimson blooming like a bright, eager flower. Jester cries out in alarm, reaching out instinctively as if to tug Keg away, but Caleb reaches out a hand to stop her.

“Let her,” Caleb murmurs, and Jester chews on her lower lip for a heartbeat before reluctantly moving back.

Keg doesn’t make a sound, her eyes dry despite what must be incredible pain; just grits her teeth as the blood drips down onto Molly’s chest. It splatters against Fjord’s papers, staining them a dark, fathomless red. Keg’s gaze is angry, directed not at Molly but inward at herself, her voice the low, raw scrape of a knife against leather.

“If I could take your place, I would,” Keg says, merciless and direct. She means it, and Caduceus nods approvingly.

Love is good, of course, but sacrifice is better. Can’t get something for nothing, and there’s no god in the universe that turns down blood. She waits for a few more seconds, one hand wrapped above her injured forearm, and then stands up and lets herself be enfolded by the group once more. Jester reaches out with tentative fingers to heal her wound, and Keg gives her a tiny, almost imperceptible smile in thanks.

“One more, I think,” Caduceus says, and as one they turn to Yasha, standing in the back, unnoticeable as shadow.

“Yasha…” Beau says quietly, looking up at her, and Yasha’s back straightens, bracing herself for a fatal blow.

She gives a jerky, single nod, and steps toward Molly, slow and hard, as if fighting the pull of the tides. Her knees creak when she settles herself behind Molly’s head, legs crossed in front of her. She hesitates, glancing up at Caduceus, before drawing a breath.

“Can I…can I move him? Just a little,” she says, her curious accent drawing out the vowels of her words.

“Of course,” Caduceus says, though he’s a bit wary of anything that will jostle the blood and the papers, but when she lets out a long breath he decides it’ll be okay.

From what they’ve told him, Yasha’s contribution will be the most important. She should do whatever feels right.

Gently, careful as a healer, she draws Molly’s body closer to her, until his head is resting in her lap. She bends over him like supplication, like prayer, and it looks…easy. Familiar. Like the two of them have sat like this dozens of times before, and Caduceus isn’t surprised when he hears the muffled sound of someone — Nott, maybe? — stifling their tears.

Rummaging in the pockets of her bag, Yasha pulls out a small, leather-bound book, and starts to pull…something…out of it. Several somethings — Caduceus squints slightly, trying to see what she’s taking, and then it clicks into place.

_Flowers. Pressed flowers._

Reverently, she pulls begins to arrange the flowers in Molly’s hair, her strong hands twisting expertly through pale lavender curls, knuckles occasionally brushing over the lines of his remarkable face. She works quickly, pulling what must be every flower out of her book, before leaning down to whisper something in his ear. Too soft for Caduceus to catch, but no matter. The words aren’t for him.

Pushing her thick, dark hair away from her face, Yasha gently extracts herself from under Molly, laying him back down as carefully as she can manage. Then she stands — the last offering, her final gift – and returns to the group.

And now, him.

Caduceus takes his turn at Molly’s side, pulling out the diamond he keeps in reserve and placing it on Molly’s chest. Resting one hand on the hollow of Molly’s throat, the other just below Molly’s ribs, Caduceus closes his eyes and beings to pray. The words come easily — the chant of the earth, the words that take shape around forces of life death, the speech of beast and leaf and water and air – and before long they loop around each other seamlessly, his body doing the work while his spirit reaches out for Molly in the Astral Plane.

_Molly…Mollymauk…_

It’s quiet, the cloudsilk aura wrapping around him like moonlight, like the first breath of summer after a lifetime of winter, and Caduceus can’t help but be comforted. No matter how many times he travels here, he is always struck by the grace of what awaits the living after death. The reward for any living creature, no matter how mean or small their life was, is to come here, and find peace. His time here will come, as will everyone’s, but today he is here for a purpose.

 _For Molly_ , he reminds himself, letting the thought guide him forward.

As if waiting for that signal, Caduceus feels a tug, a pull, and he freely allows his spirit be led. Molly is out there in the shimmering void, brought close to the surface by his friends’ offerings, and Caduceus follows it through the dark like a song. Gets closer, can almost hear Molly’s voice, when — ah.

Here. Caduceus reaches out, and the answering, familiar pressure fills him with a buoyant, glittering happiness.

There’s nothing as intimate as a resurrection ritual; Caduceus holds all of Molly (and there’s other names in there too, whispers of some other person, but Caduceus ignores them for now) in his hands, feels the bright pulse of his soul, and whispers to it.

_Do you want to come back?_

The soul brightens, sparks, flutters. _I…_

 _You don’t have to._ Caduceus is gentle, soft. There’s so _much_ out here, and the astral plane is very, very beautiful. It is no small thing, to voluntarily return to a physical body, to the material world, after this.

_Yasha...and...my friends..._

Sudden warmth, a needle-sharp longing, and Caduceus feels a tug of love, a pull so strong he’s momentarily rocked backward. How remarkable, to hold such devotion in his heart, and for the first time Caduceus thinks that this might actually, truly work.

_They’re all there. But everything else, too._

A pause — short as a breath, long as an age of the earth — and then Molly speaks with a clear, ringing certainty.

_Yes. Yes, take me back. Please._

So he does. Caduceus holds Molly tight against him, retracing his steps, getting back to the tiny corner of this place that he knows can carry them both back to the Material Plane. Molly’s spirit is pushing him forward, helping him move through the oddity of time and space without a body, and Caduceus knows this is a good sign. No lingering doubts, no hesitation, just an eager willingness to go back to a world where he faced down the ultimate pain, where he suffered the trauma of death.

 _Get ready_ , he whispers, one last time, and with a completely unnecessary breath, he gathers the power Melora grants him and murmurs the final words of the spell.

Molly wakes with a gasp under his hands.


	2. Chapter 2

The night air is cold and the moon shines bright as a coin, when Molly awakens from death for the second time.

Consciousness comes to him slowly, like rising from the dark depths of a deep lake, and awareness of his body follows; Piecemeal, individual, different parts of him clamoring for his attention one by one. First his heart, pounding hard as if he’d run all the way from Zadash, then his vision, blurred and hazy. The rough scrape of breath in his lungs. Uncomfortable prickling in his arms and legs, spreading up to meet a fine tremble in his chest.

_What — I — how —_

He blinks a few times, and the shadows around him resolve into familiar shapes — Yasha’s pale, stricken face, the amber glow of Fjord’s eyes looking at him with naked concern — and...and someone else, closer than everyone else. Someone he doesn’t know; tall, male-presenting, a bright shock of hair curling down to a pale collarbone, with two large, gentle hands still resting on his prone body.

(Molly can _feel_ those hands, suddenly, in a way he hadn’t before. Warm, _alive_ , beacons guiding him back to the strange terrain of his own body, barely-there but more real than anything else around him, shimmering with a divine energy. Molly shivers, and resists the urge to arch toward that comforting touch.)

“Mollymauk Tealeaf?” the large figure says, and as soon as Molly hears the voice he understands.

_The light — the light that guided me back. Through the swirl of mist and darkness — it was him._

Molly opens his mouth to speak, but the only sound that escapes his throat is a dry, choked rasp. He coughs, parchment-thin and weak, and suddenly he’s so desperately thirsty he can barely stand it. His mouth flooded with the sour taste of dirt; dead leaves and snowmelt and the unpleasant grit of cold soil.

_Gravedirt_ , he thinks blearily. _More gravedirt _. He coughs again, harder this time, and curls his lip in a grimace before he can stop himself. “Shhh, it’s alright,” his rescuer says, slow and deep as the rumble of the earth. “Don’t try to speak yet. Does anyone have some water?” That last to his friends grouped around him, and before Molly can muster another attempt at speech — he’s sure this big man is right and he shouldn’t, but he has to say something, he just has to — Yasha is next to him, gently lifting his head and bringing her waterskin to his lips.__

____

“Drink,” she says in her soft, careful speech, those jewel-bright eyes watching him carefully, reverently, as if he’s as miraculous as one of her sacred storms.

____

Molly swallows, ignoring the painful burn in his throat, and manages to creak out a feeble “Don’t have to twist _my_ arm, right darlin’?”

____

Yasha lets out a small, strangled laugh; quiet, intimate, just for him, and Molly manages something close to a grin.

____

“Hush, you silly thing,” she says, one corner of her mouth still turned up in a shaky smile. “Just catch your breath.”

____

He drinks, slow and easy, and is vaguely aware of the unknown healer doing some healer-y type things to him; checking his pulse, pressing gently against the palm of each hand, resting a hand against his chest as if to measure the sound and depth of his heart and lungs. Yasha doesn’t move from his side, or relinquish her hold on him, but the big man doesn't seem to mind. Just works around her bulk and stays in the background of his vision, his awareness.

____

After a few minutes, when his stomach starts to swirl a little uncomfortably with the amount of liquid he just drank, he pulls back.

____

“More later,” Yasha says firmly, and Molly breathes out a sigh of agreement. His throat is still rough and sore, but he knows she’s right.

____

“You seem to be in good shape,” the stranger says after a moment of quiet, still kneeling next to him. “You can sit up if you feel up to it. Should try to stand, actually, even if just for a little while. Get the blood pumping.”

____

Molly nods, and lets Yasha pull him into a sitting position. The ground and sky swerve for a nauseous moment, but Yasha’s hand on his shoulder grounds him, and after a few blinks his vision settles.

____

“What’s your name?” Molly says, turning to look again at the remarkable face of his savior. There’s something a little odd about his nose, now that Molly’s looking at him so closely. Flat, and broad, with a little pinkness at the tip that Molly finds...cute. He’s dressed in greenish armor, with a cream-colored shirt underneath, and behind him Molly spots a beautifully gnarled wooden staff.

____

“Caduceus,” the stranger answers, with a smile so serene and calm that Molly could sink into it, like a warm bath after a long day. “Caduceus Clay.”

____

Before Molly can say anything else — _you’re beautiful, or thank you, or how did you find us, or I feel the presence of your god like sunlight on your skin or I want to press up against you like a cat_ — Caduceus is unfolding his long limbs and standing, one hand stretched out to help Molly to his feet.

____

Molly glances at Yasha, and she nods, hooking one hand under his arm. Between the two of they haul him almost effortlessly off the ground and place him gently on his feet. He wobbles for a moment, wavering between Yasha and Caduceus, but after a few deep breaths the jelly in his knees solidifies, and he straightens up with another attempt at a grin.

____

And just as he’s looking over to the rest of his strange, beloved friends, they rush toward him as one with a burst of relieved babble. Jester’s sweet head tucked under his chin as she wraps him in a hug, Caleb’s shaky hand on his shoulder, Nott smiling sharp and shy at the edges, Beau squishing Jester between them as she gives Molly a brusque, one-armed embrace, Fjord reaching over to cup his cheek in his hand, drag of his pointed nail against Molly’s skin.

____

They’re all talking at once, variations on “Gods above” and “We missed you so much” and “How are you feeling? Do you need to rest?” and “Are you hungry?” and “Don’t ever fucking do that again”. He laughs along with them, unable to get a word in, but that’s okay. They just need to be next to him, to touch him, and he gets that. It’s hard, to be separated — doesn’t really matter who’s dead and who’s still living, or what side of the abyss you’re on. It’s the distance that hurts.

____

But he’s still woozy, still alive for only thirty minutes after what felt like ages on the other side, and it doesn’t take long for the press of bodies and voices to become slightly overwhelming. Just as Yasha makes an uneasy sound low in her chest, Molly raises his voice above the happy chatter.

____

“I — listen,” Molly says, and Fjord makes a loud shushing loud. “I can’t — I’m a little. Well. I don’t remember much, and wherever I...But I missed you. I know I missed you, all of you.”

____

“We missed you, too,” Beau says quietly, and Molly musters up enough energy for a quick wink in her direction.

____

“I can’t thank you enough,” Molly continues, trying valiantly to ignore the quaver in his voice, to ignore his instinct to downplay what just happened and what it meant to him. “I — I’ve never...No one’s ever done...anything...like this. For me. And I — just — thank you. For saving me.”

____

He trails off a bit at the end — he always likes the idea of speeches, but can never manage to make it sound as good as he thinks it will — but no matter. They’re smiling, all of them, and he swallows hard against the sudden, shocking weight of tears behind his eyes.

____

He’s not lying — no one’s ever saved him before — and for a moment he’s almost faint with the gratitude, and the love, he feels for them all.

____

“Molly needs rest,” Yasha announces loudly, before anyone could respond to his gushing outpouring of emotion.

____

“Sweetheart, I’ve been resting for, what. Days?” Molly cracks, pulling himself under control again, and Yasha rolls her eyes luxuriously.

____

"Non-Dead rest,” she says, in ‘no arguments’ tone he’d long ago learned to submit to.

____

“She’s the boss,” he says instead, shrugging cheerfully, and Fjord steps in.

____

“Yes, let’s get the camp set up,” Fjord says, flapping his hands a little as if to startle everyone else into movement. “Molly, you take a load off, or walk for a bit, or whatever Caduceus thinks is best, and we’ll get a fire goin’ and some food. You must be starving.”

____

Molly isn’t hungry, actually, but he’s not sure his body is back to sending regular Alive Signals yet, so he just smiles gratefully.

____

A scurry of activity as everyone but Yasha goes to help with the camp set-up — Beau already pulling out the tents, Nott arranging some firewood, Caleb digging through the bedrolls for something or other — and Molly takes a moment to be still. He just breathes, slow and even, marveling at the push-pull of his lungs, his heart beating in his chest, the cool night air against his skin, the silvery glow of the moon overhead, the steady grip of Yasha’s hand on his shoulder.

____

Dead. He was dead and buried in the earth, his soul drifting peacefully through the afterlife, but now he’s alive and breathing and here.

____

Again.

____

_The wheel keeps turning, over and back again,_ he thinks ruefully, and when Yasha squeezes his shoulder he places his hand over hers and squeezes back.

____

Heaving a pleasant, heavy sigh, enjoying the rush of oxygen through his blood as only the recently-dead can, he turns to move toward the camp forming. He’s guessing death probably gets him off the hook for the difficult parts of camp set-up help for at least a week or two, but there’s some low-energy tasks he could take care of in the meantime; and anyway, it feels good to move his body, to stretch out his muscles and remember the landscape of his own skin.

____

After a few steps, though, he notices something tumbling from his head. Several somethings, actually, catching on his shirt and his shoulders, drifting to the ground like leaves from a tree. _What…?_ He brings one of the objects closer, a delicate filigree of yellow and blue, and he realizes what they must be.

____

Flowers. Beautifully pressed, with their petals carefully arranged in neat little bursts. Dozens of them, scattered at his feet and in the folds of his clothing, twisting into whirls in his hair. Their sweet, dry smell suddenly obvious all around him.

____

Yasha’s flowers.

____

“Yasha…” he murmurs, his throat going tight and thick, an ache forming deep beneath his ribs, and he can’t make out another word, because he _knows_. He knows what those flowers meant to her.

____

She’d been saving them for Zualla. A love letter to her wife, the beautiful things Yasha had been aching to share with her. All that tenderness, all that devotion for the long-dead love of Yasha’s life; now, given to him, instead. To pull him back from the Astral plane, to lead him through the Astral plane.

____

It was her voice too, he realizes. Hers and Caduceus’s, that brought him back. Caduceus, as a guide. Yasha, as an anchor.

____

“Oh, Yasha…” he tries again, but the words are too puny, too small, to encompass the grief, the gratitude, that rises in him like the moon-drenched tides of the sea.

____

“Shhhh,” she says, gently grasping his hand in hers. “It was worth it, to have you back with us. With me.”

____

He doesn’t try to speak again — there’ll be time for that later — just holds her hand for another long, sweet moment before breaking away. He’s lucky, beyond lucky, to have found her. Another lost soul, another orphan, another person so untethered to the world around her that she choose to tie herself to him, instead. Just like he had to her. And now, to the group at large.

____

Not bad, for someone who’s died twice and lived to tell about it.

____

When he takes some only moderately shaky steps back toward the camp, he notices Caduceus, standing off to the side. Out of the way, in the background, waiting for Fjord or Jester to direct him to the most helpful task. Watching all of them happily, but with just the tiniest tinge of...envy, Molly thinks. The teasing, the casual intimacy — Molly has been on the outside of that before, knows how precious it seems when you’re the one looking in, and his heart is pierced by a strange, silvery thread of longing.

____

_Why is Caduceus out here all alone?_

____

———

____

Later that night, after they all make camp and prop Molly up on a ridiculous pile of bedrolls draped with his tapestry, after the torrent of relieved babble and panic-tinged laughter trails away, after Jester fell asleep on Beau’s shoulder and Fjord starts nodding off and Nott curls up in her bedroll with a sleepy wave goodnight, Molly looks around again for Caduceus.

____

Just like every time Molly’s seen him, Caduceus was in the background most of the night — he isn’tt standoff-ish, not like Caleb had been in the beginning or Yasha is pretty much all the time for everyone but them. But quiet. Observant. Chuckling a little at the bawdy jokes or highly embellished tales of their adventures, but more to himself than anything else. Sitting off-center from the group, elegantly folding his tall frame into a straight-backed sitting position, one pale spidersilk sleeve pooling around him like liquid smoke.

____

Caduceus is far enough from the fire that he’s draped half in darkness, shadows pooling in the hollow of his throat, the dips in his folded hands, but his face is still turned toward the light. He isn’t like anyone Molly has ever seen before, flits halfway between looking a little ridiculous and strikingly, arrestingly handsome. That curiously flat nose, the high cheekbones, the long and fuzzy ears that flop downward like graceful folds of fabric against his neck.

____

Molly wonders if they’re as soft as they look.

____

Hoisting himself up a little higher on his elbows, he calls out, soft enough not to wake his sleeping friends, but loud enough to carry over the crackling of the fire and the hum of winter insects.

____

“Caduceus,” he says, waving one hand invitingly. “Hey, Caduceus. C’mere for a bit.”

____

Caduceus blinks, slow and deliberate as a cat, before smiling and standing up to his full height. Molly’s skin prickles slightly at the sight of those long limbs, the slender torso — _he really is exquisite-looking_ — and even when Caduceus settles into a seat at his side he’s still towering over him. A pleasant shiver crawls up Molly’s spine, and he lets out a long, steadying breath.

____

“I just wanted to say...uh...thanks,” Molly says, firmly leashing his overactive imagination to heel. “Gods, that feels completely inadequate, doesn’t it? I just...I don’t....I don't’ really know...”

____

_I don’t really know how to thank you for saving my life, for bringing me back and not Lucian or whoever the fuck I was before. For preserving the only parts of my myself that I remember, or trust, or love._

____

“You’re welcome,” Caduceus says, while Molly tries to unhook the words lodged back behind his tongue. “You...this is an odd thing to say too, and I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but I know. How you feel.”

____

Molly raises an eyebrow. “Is this some freaky cleric shit?” he asks, grinning to take the sting out of the words, but Caduceus only chuckles.

____

“Maybe. It’s just — resurrection rituals. They’re...they’re intimate. I was — well. I was with you. Over there. I _felt_ you, all of you. And I’m honored, and humbled, that you trusted me enough to follow me back.”

____

Molly’s quiet for a long moment. A breeze whispers across their campsite, sending the fire flickering and dancing. Molly shivers.

____

“I — it’s pretty hazy,” Molly admits. “Like a dream, you know? When I...when I woke up, I thought…but now it seems _impossible_ , so...”

____

“Not impossible,” Caduceus says, still with that serene smile, mysterious as a sphinx. “But the choice was yours. I cannot bring anyone back who doesn’t wish to return. You had to make the journey yourself — I merely lit the path.”

____

And when Molly looks over at him, Caduceus is just...watching him. Not staring, not waiting for an answer or a response. Completely without expectation, but as if he could see right through him, like there’s no need to hide because everything is there, out in the open. Thrilling, disconcerting, a whole host of other things Molly’s not too keen on examining at the moment, but mostly, Molly just wants to _know_ him, wants to know Caduceus the way Caduceus already seems to know him.

____

_Who_ is _he?_

____

So, before the exhaustion he can feel tugging at his conscious takes over, Molly does what he does best. He smiles, he turns on the charm, he asks Caduceus flattering questions about where he’s from, how he ended up here, how Beau, Nott, and Caleb survived even a day without either of them. Caduceus’s answers are deliberate, and calm, but not without a spark of humor — he must realize Molly’s laying it on pretty thick, but he doesn’t seem to mind, seems to almost enjoy the attention.

____

_Probably hasn’t had too many opportunities to flirt, living out in a graveyard for the past few years_ , Molly thinks with a grin, though he keeps that pithy observation to himself. No need to humiliate himself quite yet with the crush he’s obviously already nursing.

____

They talk into the night, cozy and quiet; everyone else drops off one by one, whispering a sleepy goodnight before crawling into tents and bedrolls, until it’s just the two of them and Yasha. She’s taking first watch on the other side of the fire, silent and solid, her silhouette more comforting and familiar than anything else in this world.

____

“So what’s next for you, Cad?” Molly asks, stretching a little until his spine cracks with a satisfying pop.

____

Caduceus stares into the fire for a long moment, and Molly feels a stab of unease in his stomach.

____

“I was thinking, now that you’re back,” Caduceus says, glancing over at him with another sweet quirk of his lips. “Well, I was thinking I might leave, head back to my temp—”

____

“No, really?” Molly cuts in, sitting up straighter and turning to face Caduceus more fully, the twist of unease in his belly tightening into bitter disappointment. “Please, please don’t go. I mean, if you want to...but I...I mean…”

____

_He can’t...we just met..._

____

He’s babbling, he knows he is, and since when does he feel this strongly about anyone? Since when does he need anyone — even _Yasha_ , his beloved found sister — to stay with him if they wanted to go? What is it about this stranger that has him craving his presence?

____

Before he can blurt out any of this ridiculous nonsense, though, Caduceus just smiles wider and continues.

____

“— but. I think the Wildmother wants me to go beyond what I’ve seen, what I already know. I think here, with you, is where I need to be right now,” he says, with such a complete lack of guile that Molly is momentarily taken aback.

____

“Oh,” he says, groping for words, relief flooding his chest in fluttery waves. “Good. That’s...good.”

____

“And right now, I think you need to be in that tent,” Caduceus says, nodding back toward the prepared bedroll that Fjord had laid out for him, and all of a sudden it looks like the most comfortable thing on this earth.

____

_Bed. Sleep. Good. Soft, and warm._

____

“Don’t suppose you’d like to join me,” Molly says, the words out of his mouth before he can stop them, exhaustion blunting the edge of what little good sense he had still remaining. _Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Too much._

____

Caduceus blinks, looking startled for the first time this evening, and even through his own mortification Molly can’t help grinning for half a second at the look on his face. _He’s cute, when he’s surprised._

____

“Sorry, I didn’t mean — I’m still feeling kinda weird,” he says in a rush, which isn’t untrue, but it’s not like he’d say ‘no’ if Caduceus would let him cuddle up to his warm, shaggy body. “Loopy. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable —”

____

“You didn’t,” Caduceus says, his expression smoothing out, all reassurance. “You just...you’re a very surprising person, Mollymauk Tealeaf."

____

“I get that a lot,” Molly says dryly, and Caduceus laughs quietly.

____

Molly stands, haltingly and embarrassingly weak in the knees, but Caduceus helps him up with a firm arm around his waist. Maneuvering himself slightly, not letting himself over-think it, Molly twists around enough to face Caduceus.

____

“Thank you. Again,” he says softly, before kissing Caduceus lightly on one pale cheek. Caduceus sucks in a breath and lets it out just as quick, a quiet huff of air that ghosts across Molly’s neck, and before Caduceus can do more than blink he’s pulling away with a sharp-toothed grin.

____

“Night, Cad,” he says, light and unconcerned and pretending not to notice what looks like a blush spreading across Caduceus’s nose and cheeks.

____

“Goodnight, Molly,” Caduceus says, and Molly feels his eyes on him as he walks back to his tent.

____

**Author's Note:**

> Wouldn't Caduceus just _love_ Emily Dickinson??
> 
> Come say hi on [tumblr](http://tinwoman-heartless.tumblr.com/), where I'm constantly shouting about the Mighty Nein.


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